


hairpin turns

by hysteries



Series: kerosene (tim stoker appreciation week) [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archival Assistants, Background Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Drunk Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Gen, POV Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Pre-Canon, Team Bonding, What's the best way to resolve team conflict? Drinks and disco and Tim in a popped collar!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysteries/pseuds/hysteries
Summary: “Two weeks of awkwardness, and they solve it by doing disco?” He’d pictured the four of them around the table with his careful intervention bridging the divide. In that perfect world, Jon would’ve turned to him and said, "you know Tim, you’re right," and Sasha would’ve knocked him into a hug and muttered, "thanks, you prat." Instead, they’re doing just fine without him.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Series: kerosene (tim stoker appreciation week) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730320
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57
Collections: Tim Stoker Appreciation Week





	hairpin turns

Contrary to popular belief, Sasha James isn’t perfect.

For one, she’s a terrible dancer. Horrific, really. She can’t manage to keep a beat for the life of her. Her arms flail all over the place, her attempts at shimmying always make her stumble, and she has a tendency to kick out her legs like some bizarre version of the can-can. No matter where she is, whether she’s bobbing her shoulders behind her desk or shaking her hips in the middle of a club, she looks like a fish flopping around out of water.

To her credit, she always looks happy doing it. She might bump into walls and strangers, but she’s always wearing this big grin on her face that lights her right up. Ever since he saw the first post-research victory dance, Tim’s decided it’s one of his favourite things about her.

Not that he joins her very often. No, thank you. He’s very selective about letting out the dance beast out. It’s an art form, looking cool while moving to a beat. His height and gangly limbs already work against him; dancing with somebody like Sasha is a recipe for disaster. He’s got to be well and truly tipsy to make that much of a fool of himself.

 _Pub night! To celebrate our new big boss!_ He’d announced it loud and clear in the break room and, in spite of the hesitation he could feel from everybody else, he hadn’t taken no for an answer. They wound up in a tourist-filled bar, at some terrible eighties night that Tim knew would drive Jon crazy. He’d expected awkwardness, tense conversations, Sasha tripping over her words not to let Jon know how badly it’d hurt to be passed over. And he’d be at the centre of it all – team mediator, morale booster, the guy who makes it all okay.

What he hadn’t expected was for Sasha to pull Jon onto the small dance floor after the first pint. Or for Jon to break into a grin as Sasha’s arms shot out in what Tim could only describe as an attempt at the wave. By the second song, he can see the two of them talking excitedly over the music. Jon’s foot is even tapping while Sasha wriggles and bounces.

He’s not jealous – no, definitely not. Jealous over what, even? But this whole truce, peace-making deal was _his_ idea, and so shouldn’t they both be over here grinning at him instead? It’s his plan that’s got them laughing like that — a little gratitude would be nice.

“What are you staring at?”

Martin’s back with three pints for the rest of them. His own first pint sits half-drunk at the table. No matter how many times Tim tells him he doesn’t have to play server, Martin finds any excuse he can to head up to the bar.

“I’m not staring.” He’s definitely staring. Sasha’s spinning under Jon’s arm now, and when they knock clumsily into each other, Tim definitely doesn’t frown. Because he’s not jealous.

“You’re totally staring.”

After Jon and Sasha pull apart, Tim faces Martin. He takes a moment to pop the collar of his loudly-patterned shirt, the one that he’d changed deliberately into for eighties night. The one that Sasha didn’t even compliment – but whatever. It’s no big deal.

“Two weeks of awkwardness, and they solve it by doing _disco_?” He’d pictured the four of them around the table with his careful intervention bridging the divide. In that perfect world, Jon would’ve turned to him and said, _you know Tim, you’re right_ , and Sasha would’ve knocked him into a hug and muttered, _thanks, you prat_. Instead, they’re doing just fine without him.

He’s never dealt especially well with being ignored.

“Yeah – isn’t it great?” Martin’s got the pints down on the table now, and he leans forward, chin in his hands. “We should put a disco ball in the Institute. Could do wonders for conflict resolution.”

Tim finds himself laughing. “Jon would have our heads.” He puts on his best imitation, deepening his voice and smoothing his words, “ _There’s enough distraction in this workplace as it is._ ”

“Oh, he means well.”

He watches Martin watch Sasha and Jon. There’s a softness to his expression as the corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile. It’s an expression that Tim’s seen once or twice before.

“Martin…” Tim’s not quite sure what to say. _Martin, you don’t fancy Jon, do you_? That seems rash, somehow, and he’s not looking to scare Martin off. International Peace Keeper Tim Stoker isn’t here to “stoke” conflict.

Shit, that’s good. One to keep in his back pocket for later. “It’s okay to say it. They look like _aliens_ out there.”

To be fair, they really do. Sasha’s all-in, and Jon’s just standing there, almost completely frozen in the middle of a dance floor. Tim can’t help it; he slides his phone out to take a photo. Or a dozen.

“They look happy.”

He’s right about that – but it’s not them Tim’s watching anymore. He turns his attention towards Martin. If the others don’t need him, maybe Martin does. “And you are too, right?”

“Huh?” Martin tears his gaze away from the dynamic duo and looks Tim full in the face. He grins back at Martin with what he hopes is understanding and compassion. Martin doesn’t look comforted.

“New job and all, can’t be easy. We haven’t been too tough on you, have we?” He knows he’s absolutely crushing it, the whole motivational coworker shtick. Jon and Sasha must be dearly suffering without his excellent advice.

“Uh… no, not really. It’s all just a little overwhelming, but you’re great! All of you. The team – it’s nice.” Martin’s face is rapidly turning darker, a shade of reddish pink that Tim can see even through the party lights. Must be from the beer, he decides.

“Fantastic!” He slaps Martin on the shoulder. “We’re happy to have you with us. Seriously.”

The tentative smile on Martin blossoms into a full-on grin. “Thanks, Tim.”

Just then, a pair of arms encircle Martin from behind. Sasha presses her chin to the top of his head. Her hair is a mess of static and curls. Tim realizes that she’s absolutely pissed — and alone, with no Jon in sight.

“Hey, you.” He tilts his head to the side, taking her in with a growing smile. Ready to escort her back to the dance floor or listen to her rapt thanks. One or the other. 

“Hey, you!” She shouts back over the music, beaming at him. Martin cringes, one hand going to hold onto his ear. That draws Sasha’s attention, and she bends down. “Martin! Come dance!” Her arm tugs at Martin’s insistently.

Tim’s grin instantly slides back into a frown. He’s not sulking – sulking is for kids – but he crosses his arms and sinks further into his seat in a sulk-ish way.

Martin, for his part, looks slightly caught. “Oh – with you?”

“’Course! Come on!”

He shrugs helplessly at Tim before he follows Sasha back towards the group of people under the disco light. Tim’s left all alone again – and alright, maybe this time, he’s a little bit jealous. It’s just that pub nights are him and Sasha’s thing. They’re the ones who go pint for pint, swapping terrifying stories over chips and bad music. Since the brand-new archival team formed, she’s the only thing that’s stayed a constant, the only levity in an otherwise incredibly dull and dreary job.

(And she might leave – wants to leave, doesn’t see anything here for her.)

“Tim?”

He’s not sure how long he’s been staring this time when he’s interrupted. Sasha is twirling under Martin’s arm and her hair flies all-ways, smacking into his face. As Tim watches, they erupt into giggles.

“Why are you frowning at Martin and Sasha? Something happen?” That’s the thing about Jon. He’s got this weird uncanny perceptiveness that works wonders when he wants to use it. Problem is – his nose is usually so far up that he forgets to look down.

“Just watching them dance. He’s quite good, isn’t he?” Tim asks diplomatically. He twists to see Jon watching them. He’s got a half-smile that looks a little like Martin’s. Must be the beer, Tim decides, because Jon never smiles like that. All soft and gentle.

“I suspect anyone looks good compared to Sasha.”

He laughs, loud and delighted. “Harsh! Okay, touch – touché, whatever – she’s _awful_.”

“Oh, just terrible.” Jon’s still smiling. Maybe he got body-swapped in the toilets? Or maybe Sasha’s funky dancing had been a magic spell of some kind, and she got him out of the funk he’s been in ever since moving into his new office. After a breathe pause, Jon clears his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Tim reaches forward to tap on the glass in front of him. “If you have another pint. Martin got us a round.”

At the mention of Martin’s name, Jon’s eyebrow raises. Somehow – God knows how – he stops himself from saying anything, and after a beat, takes a sip of the beer. “Sasha – she’s alright, yes? She’s just been a little bit… quiet, lately. Since she took on the new job.”

“She’s got a lot on her plate, boss.” He could say something. Tell him that his job should’ve been hers, that Sasha’s earned it ten times over. But after seeing how careful Sasha’s been not to let Jon feel slighted, that’d feel like throwing her under the bus. For the first time in a long time – maybe in his life, really – he keeps mum. “Figuring out if this is for her or not.”

“What? What d’you mean, _this_? She loves research.”

The thing he forgets about Jon is – he’s not a prick on purpose. It’s accidental, most of the time. Like taking on a job he’s vastly underqualified for and not realizing that maybe someone else had those qualifications. Or treating the newbie hire with kid gloves and alienating him in the process. It’s not assholery in earnest – for someone who spends most of his time _thinking_ , Jon is pretty terrible at it.

“Yeah, but you know. Ten years of school and research would leave anyone knackered.”

“She’s not thinking of quitting, is she?”

 _Yes_ , he wants to say, _And you can’t let her leave, don’t let her leave because this place will go straight to hell without her, it won’t be right it won’t feel right_. Instead, he makes himself smile. “Of course not. As if she could ever leave me.” Jon stares at him, deadpan. He tries again. “Or us. Or the team. Or the spooks she’s always banging on about.”

“She wouldn’t really go.” It might not be a question, but it feels like one. Tim knows Jon well enough – oh. Jon’s asking him for advice. Tim can’t help himself. He smirks.

“Dunno. I doubt it.” When Jon looks to him for a better answer, he shrugs. “Too many questions to answer, and you know she can’t stand unsolved mysteries.”

Jon looks like he’s about to say something else, but before he can, a swirl of curls rams into the back of his chair. “Sorry!” Sasha yells. Her hair’s even wilder before and, behind her, Martin wears a matching grin. They’re both red-faced and huffing and puffing.

Warmth explodes up Tim’s chest and into his face, surliness and sulking instantly forgotten.

“Maybe we should call it a night.” Jon’s brow is all furrowed like he’s worried. He looks like a disappointed dad – which is hilarious, given that Sasha has more responsibility in her right pinky than he does in his entire body.

“Not yet!” She crows – and this time, she reaches out towards Tim. He doesn’t need to think about it. He latches onto her hand and lets her guide him up and onwards, until they’re in a sweaty mass of people illuminated by colourful lights.

They’re a mismatched pair. He’s got rhythm, for one, while Sasha’s in her own world and doing her pseudo-cheerleading routine, all arms and hips. She’s tall enough that, when he spins her, her hair flies wildly and manages to whip him in the arm and face. He ducks his head instinctively, catching the swirl of her orange skirt. Who knew something so dowdy in the office could fit so well in a disco?

“You having fun?” He has to shout over the music – they’ve shifted to The Cure, now, and he can’t hear his own voice over the guitar.

“Hell yeah!” She yells back, and he has to dodge her excited fist-pump. “All thanks to you, brilliant you!” She throws herself onto his back, tackling him in a combination of a bear hug and piggyback. “This was just what I needed!”

“Was it?” He plays dumb; pretends he wasn’t sulking like a prat in the corner while Sasha had the time of her life out here.

“Shut up. You knew what you were doing.” She uses her weight to turn him around so that he faces back to their table. Jon and Martin are at their table and they’re… talking? Civilly? “And so did I.” He can hear the pride in her voice.

“What?”

“They needed to loosen up! Jon especially, but Martin too.” She laughs, “I’m not sure how long it’ll last, but at least now they’re appropriately loose.”

“Sash, if you’re trying to make this ‘the start of a beautiful friendship,’ I think that ship’s already sailed.”

He can hear her laugh over the music, loud and full. “You never know. Could swing back around.”

Tim turns to face her and she’s beaming. She looks a mess, hair and sweat and makeup everywhere, and he’s filled to the brim with feeling. Of wanting to tuck her hair back, to say something. _Don’t leave_.

Instead, what comes out is, “And you and Jon?”

He’s a coward. Always been one. First there was Danny; now, Sasha. Tim lets his life pass through his fingers like sand. He never makes the right moves at the right time. It’s all just clumsy grasping and pushing, fighting for what he can never have.

“We’re fine.” Whatever’s on his face, she reads it and takes a step closer. “Promise. I’m not angry at _him_. Never was, really.”

“Does that mean you’ll stay?”

Her head cocks to the side. Not for the first time, Tim wishes he could read her thoughts. Unlike the others, she’s completely impenetrable. “Considering it.”

“Well then…” He’s always been a man of action over words. “Consider this.” He takes Sasha by the hand and spins her again; once then twice then again. With her stumbling and his own unpracticed moves, it’s a miracle he ends it with a dip – but he does. By the time she’s in his arms, they’re both laughing.

They stay like that for a moment. Sasha dangling, Tim careful not to let her go.

“Noted.” There’s a funny little smile on her lips, one that he hasn’t seen. Before he can do anything about it, she’s getting up and looking back at Jon and Martin. Tim follows in suit.

“Shall we go save him?” She shouts. Jon’s gesticulating wildly, back ramrod straight. Tim would recognize that look anywhere – he’s in full-blown lecture mode. Poor Martin.

“Absolutely. Don’t know how he’s bearing it so well.” To his credit, Martin only looks a little bored, and maybe that’s just exhaustion from whirling Sasha around before.

“Let’s go. Sasha and Tim to the rescue!” She yanks him forward.

“If that’s our super-team name, we’re definitely flipping it to Tim and Sasha. Or – TimSasha?”

“That sounds like some weird American baby name. Keep trying.”

“By Monday, there’ll be a list on your desk.”

She turns her head to grin at him. “Looking forward to it.”

He’s not sure who’s doing the pulling – him or her – but when they make it back to the table, it’s Sasha who’s keeping their hands interlocked. Her grip is warm, tight. _Don’t leave_ , he wants to say again – to her, to Jon, even to Martin – but stops himself. He’s always been a coward; and so in the end, all he does is squeeze her fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back to my romcom universe. this is meant to take place roughly a few weeks into the archival assistants working together after jon's been made archivist; let's say, two weeks after tim and sasha have their conversation in MAG162. my most important headcanon for sasha james is that she's fully amy "dance pants" santiago even when she's sober and everyone loves her for it. you can pry her being the glue of the season one gang out of my cold, dead hands. they're definitely at a terrible tourist bar, tim's gone full-on 80s and is wearing sunglasses indoors, and martin and jon are both incredibly embarrassed to be seen with him. the gang's all here, they're happy, they're friends, and nothing bad will ever happen to them! isn't that wonderful?
> 
> this is my day four entry for tim stoker appreciation week, and i went with "dance" for the prompt. 
> 
> have a great rest of your week, everyone!


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